I promised myself I would do some writing tonight and it seems I’ve succeeded. I did watch an episode of American Horror Story first but, you know what, that’s ok. I’m here now and that’s what matters. I haven’t posted anything in three months so, for me, the main thing was that I didn’t come home and just get back on the computer and do more work. There have been so many nights where I’ve told myself I’ll write something, anything but then I start with just a little bit of work and next thing I know it’s midnight and… fuck! It’s happened again.

Back in November, I started doing the social media and events for two of Jared’s bars and, at the time, I naively thought I’d be able to do that part time and keep working for my other bosses (albeit reduced hours). Oh boy was I wrong. The social media is fine but the events… They’ve spiralled into so much more than a full time role. This week I’m actually training someone to start helping me because it’s too much for one person. It’s a good problem to have; too many events. And I’m loving it but, god, it’s been a full on six months.

I’ve been working some very long days. For the last I don’t even know how many weeks, there’ve been many nights when I’ll come home and get straight back on the computer to work and won’t get to bed til midnight or 1am. Then I’m back on the computer – back at work – from 9am or 10am. I hate it. Not the job, mind you. Just the workload. The lifestyle. The fact that I literally go from work to bed with no me time aside from maybe watching TV while eating dinner. It sucks but it should get better soon. Even if it doesn’t get better before we go on holiday, it should at least get better when I’m back and the new girl is all trained up and we have our systems in place.

Oh yes. The holiday. The light at the end of the tunnel, our belated honeymoon. Nine weeks of European bliss.

Paris

Barcelona

Rome

Dubrovnik

Sailing the Croatian Islands

Mykonos, Milos and Santorini

Sicily and then a road trip from the Amalfi Coast up to Florence and then back across to Milan.

I cannot fucking wait and thankfully there are only 5.5 weeks until we fly. It can’t come soon enough as far as I’m concerned. It’s starting to get that chill in the air here and little old me will be quite happy to ditch winter in favour of an endless summer. We’ll be back mid-August so we really won’t see too much of winter this year, thank fuck. If we ever become super rich, that will be my request: travel the world so we never see another winter… unless it’s by choice. Fuck. That. Shit. I want to spend my days in as little clothing as legally possible and winter ain’t gonna help me achieve that life goal. No siree, bob.

So yeah, that’s been me for the past six months but I want to do better. Just typing this now makes me realise how much I’ve missed writing. I feel a bit rusty but that’s nothing a bunch of good ol’ practice won’t fix. I just need to make time. Fuck, it’s not like it takes long.

A friend asked me the other day if I was going to get back to my writing once work settled down and, at the time, I thought no. In that moment, I think I just desperately wanted to have just some free time to do absolutely nothing. Maybe to read. Anything. I hadn’t written in so long that it felt like an impossibility. But look at me now! I’m fucking flyin’, Chop! Sorry, that’s Chopper reference. I’m pretty sure it will only make sense to Australians or people that are familiar with Eric Bana’s early work. Watch the movie. You won’t be disappointed.

Anyway, that’s enough from me. I’ve kept my promise to myself and I’m happy with my effort. Now I just need to keep it up. It’s the follow through has always been the tough bit for me.

I’ve been using this amazing smelling body cleanser from Lush. It’s called Karma and it smells spicy and exotic; it has sandalwood in it or some shit. Anyway, I love it but, when I went in there to re-up, the counter chick scared the crap out of me by telling me that my store is the only one in the whole world that stocks it (or maybe it was just Australia, the world seems like a bit of a stretch) and, once it’s done, they won’t make anymore.

Naturally, panic set in. How could I live without this amazing smelling body wash? Such a scenario was unthinkable. So today, I went back in and got four more bottles. I also bought some additional stuff that I probably didn’t need but fuck it, I’m going to smell delicious and be sooooooo soft (not that I’m not already). Everything was perfect. I wouldn’t have to be without my Karma body wash for a very, very long time. All my shower-based problems were solved, right? Right?

And yet… yet… the minute everything had been rung up and the check out chick started packing my big, brown paper bag, I thought, ‘oh shit, now I’m stuck with this stuff.’ Despite having been desperate to never, ever run out just seven fucking seconds prior, I was now questioning my logic:

Do I really need that much? There are plenty of other fabulous smelling shower gels. Mightn’t I want to try something new in the near future?

If so, I’ve fucked that up unless I plan on giving some away as gifts or letting them sit there gathering dust like deliciously spicy-smelling, gel-filled cupboard figurines.

Commitment. I’ve always had a problem with it. I love, love, love something and then – just like that – I don’t. Poof! You’re obsolete. I’m onto the next thing. Sorry. I feel bad for the countless face washes, lipsticks, hair products, perfumes, etc., that I’ve sworn by and then… just… not. Luckily, Jared is not a cosmetic or else he might have gone the way of all these products I decide no longer suit my purposes, despite being the holy grail product up until the moment they weren’t. I suppose it says more about me that I’d probably care to consider so let’s not dwell on any further.

Speaking of Jared, the marriage after glow is in full effect, no need to fear. Although I think the shock of returning to reality (read: returning to work) has plunged him into a deep post-holiday/wedding/mini-moon extravaganza depression. Meanwhile, I, on the other hand, am feeling excited to be back at work and being productive (although I have had a few exciting developments on that front – details to follow when things are a bit more solid).

Now if I could just get back to training; Jared couldn’t do Monday and our trainer can’t do tomorrow. I suppose I could go to pilates or do something on my own but… nahhhhhhh. That’s definitely not classic me (well, not at the moment anyway).

My partner and me have very different conversation styles, which can often cause contention between us. In my estimation, I talk less, listen more and ask lots of questions so I’m sure I understand. I’m also quieter when I talk, which means I often struggle to be heard in groups that contain louder voices than my own (which is basically everyone). For this reason, I’m not a huge fan of big groups. Give me a one-on-one any day, at least that way I feel like I can actually have a conversation with someone. Really anything bigger than three or four is a lot for me.

Jared is probably the exact opposite when it comes to talking. He will easily dominate a conversation, skipping from one topic to the next, confident in what he has to say and able to project his voice so everyone hears, even if it means occasionally talking over someone. He doesn’t ask many questions and is rarely at a loss for something to say. We joke that he loves the sound of his own voice but there’s some truth to it. We almost never got together because, on the first night we hung out, he spent the whole time talking about himself (although there were extenuating circumstances).

I think the difference lies in the way we perceive conversation. In my mind, good conversation comes down to listening more than anything else. It’s an exchange of ideas and stories yes, but, in order to understand someone fully, I think we need to ask questions. If I’m talking about something that interests you, ask me more. Get me to tell you more than what I’m saying at face value. Yes, of course, share your stories too but the way I gauge someone’s interest or show my own is by asking them more about their experiences, about their understanding, rather than bringing it around to me.

This difference in conversation styles has caused issues for us. We once had an argument because I felt he didn’t ask or show any interest in how my day was. For a long time (and even sometimes still now), I thought he wasn’t interested in what I had to say because he would invariably hear me, nod and then start talking about his experience with whatever I was talking about. It would make me angry because I’d wonder how he’d ever learn anything about me if he was always just waiting to pounce on a spare moment of silence so he could talk about himself? How could he be so genuinely disinterested in what I had to say that he never felt the need to ask a single question? “Yes, but I…” was just his standard response to anything anyone said no matter the subject.

I now wonder whether it’s just that we have very different communication styles. By acknowledging what I’ve said, he thinks he’s done his part in ‘being interested’ in what I have to say. For me, the fact that he doesn’t ask any follow up questions means that he’s not really interested and just wants to get it over with so he can talk about whatever it is he wants to talk about. A slight exaggeration but actually pretty close to what I think on some of my crankier days. I sometimes find myself resenting the fact that we talk about him so much but I’m usually the cause because I’m the one asking more questions simply because I’m interested in what he’s saying! AAARGH!

How do you solve a problem like Mar-eeee-ahh? Sorry, slight Sound of Music diversion there. It felt right and I regret nothing! But seriously, how does one solve a problem like this? Perhaps it’s something I’m just going to have to continually remind myself not to get worked up about. We’re different in many, many ways and I’m sure there are things I do that bother him: my tendency to be very easily offended, my mood swings, my desire to share a shower with him of a morning – although not so much now he’s getting up so early – I could go on.

It may sound a bit sad but the gloss kind of wears off when you’ve been together as long as we have. It becomes very easy to focus on the faults and not the things that work. To pick and pick and pick until you’re both shabby and frayed and there’s nothing left. That’s right around the time when ‘Why did I fall in love with this person?’ can become a very hard question to answer, depending on what day it is. Just think about it – it was ten years ago (maybe a bit less) when we fell in love! I was 23 and he was 20. We’re such different people now and, looking at it that way, I can see how people grow apart.

It’s almost like you have to find ways to fall in love over and over again otherwise it just fades away. And it’s hard work. Once that shiny veneer is gone, you’re on your own to make something from what’s left of that fiery love at the beginning. It’s definitely not easy and it’s nothing like any fucking rom-com I’ve ever watched (I try not to watch them at all these days). But, when things go right, even if that’s only 6 days out of 7, it’s worth it. And then you just have to survive that seventh day. Maybe by hiding under the doona and not coming out? I’m told that’s the best way to not fuck anything up.

Once upon a time, I used to spend a lot of energy comparing my relationship with Jared to that of other couples we knew. At the time, Jared worked a lot of nights so I wished he worked normal hours so we could be more social together, rather than me having to do things on my own. I wished he didn’t work weekends. Constantly comparing our life made me angry and resentful and those feelings would bleed into the time we had together, contaminating it.

I had what I’d call relationship envy, like food envy – where you covet what the person beside you orders in a restaurant – but with relationships (not sure you needed that little explanation but, oh well, it’s done now). It wasn’t all about Jared’s hours or how little we saw each other, there were many little things I’d notice and wish I had in my relationship. But, regardless of what it was, it all served the same purpose: I was too busy making myself upset about what we didn’t have to be grateful for the things we did.

Skip forward eight or nine years and things are very different. There’s very little I’d change about our relationship. Of course, there’s no such thing as perfection but I believe we’re consistently hitting high levels of awesome on the relationship scale. I look around at the many, many couples I know and I wouldn’t switch what I have for the world (ok maybe for a night with Tom Hardy and Angelina Jolie. And who could blame me?). We rarely fight. We enjoy each other’s company and like to do things together – both alone and with friends – and I can honestly say that my partner is my best friend, the person I confide in and trust the most and am still deeply in love and in lust/desire with (however you want to put it). To be closing in on 10 years of togetherness and not feeling the slightest bit tired of ‘us’ is something I’m pretty damn proud of (especially considering my track record with commitment).

I know so many people who suffer from relationship envy and, speaking from experience, it’s a terrible, insidious thing. Any kind of comparison eventually sucks the joy out of the life. With the advent of social media sites like Facebook and Instagram, it’s easier than ever to compare yourself and feel lacking. People often use these sites to showcase their highlights; we rarely see the B-sides and the downtime. It’s 99% people at their most glitzy and glam and fair enough. We all know that one person who airs their dirty laundry on FB and you eventually unfollow them (or maybe that’s just me?).

The important thing to remember in this world of super connectedness is that you don’t know what goes on behind closed doors. The ‘happiest couple’ on social media isn’t necessarily the happiest couple in real life. Focus on what you have and work on making it better. Appreciate what you have. What works for someone else isn’t going to work for you. Also, those people might be older, into different stuff, at a different place financially, there are so many reasons why couples are different.

Besides, even if you managed to be magically gifted with what you think is that’s wrong with your relationship (not enough champagne? Not enough doughnuts? Not enough puppies? Personally, I think there can never be enough of these things), there’s no guarantee everything will be wonderful, happy, happy fun times after that (result: alcoholism, diabetes and a house full of puppy poo and puppy teeth bites – nope, still worth it!).

WordPress tells me my last post was 14 days ago and who am I to question that? Someone whose been remiss in my writing duties, that’s who. Even writing this now, I feel rusty and out of practice. The words don’t flow as easily as they once did. I’ll get back there though, I just have to apply myself.

It’s kind of a thing in life, isn’t it? The need to apply oneself. You need it for everything: work, friendships, hobbies, the gym. You name it, you’re probably doing it wrong if you aren’t applying yourself. And, if I’m totally honest, the only thing I’ve been applying myself to lately is partying and being hungover. These two things I’m applying myself to like a motherfucker.

But it has to stop (or at least tone down a little) because I’m GETTING MARRIED! Yep, you heard it right. On the 6th of December, Jared’s 30th birthday, he proposed to me in front of 30-odd of our closest friends and family while on a massive boat in Sydney Harbour. Words that I would use to describe the experience might be:

Amazing

Epic

Emotional.

It was a total surprise. I thought it might be coming soon but I didn’t think it would happen so publicly. Everyone was so excited. There were many tears shed (mine were done in the privacy of one of the downstairs bedrooms while waiting for Jared to join me so we could call my mum). The birthday party turned engagement party lasted way into the night and morning (and well past when it should have really).

Here’s a photo from just after I said yes. And yes, I am topless. I generally tend to be that way as much as possible.

Anyways, never fear, I’m not hanging up my partying Louboutins. I must simply refrain from excessive madness as I need to apply myself to planning a goddamn wedding, the party I was born to organise, and being hungover is not going to accomplish that anytime soon. All that accomplishes is a day on the couch watching Netflix with none of the chill – or all of the chill, depending on how you look at it.

The little organising automaton in me is super-excited. I have a Pinterest board with pictures of stuff I like. A friend set up another board to post ideas for dresses. I have a spreadsheet with worksheets for the invite list, the venue shortlist I’m pulling together and the split of friends for our hens/bucks (although I’m told I’m not allowed to plan that, damn them). This is something I can well and truly apply myself to, no problems there.

On Saturday, my partner and me had an argument, which is out of the ordinary because we rarely fight. We’ll have disagreements. We’ll have tiffs. But we rarely raise our voices. We try and be civilised grown ups about these things. We’ve learnt the value of communication and we try and put it into practice. We’re adults. Uh huh suure.

Well, weekend before last, my partner fractured his ankle in a freak trampoline dodgeball accident (yep, there’s a story for you!) and this was his first weekend in a cast with crutches. He was understandably downcast. We’re both huge summer bunnies who basically live at the beach come summer plus he’s booked a day on the harbour on an amazing boat for his 30th and he was worried he might still be in the cast by then. PLUS, to make matters worse, we live in the least accessible apartment on the planet – in the middle of a steep hill and then two internal flights of stairs. Things were looking grim for him.

I was battling my own demons that day and, although he asked me what was wrong, I wasn’t really willing to talk about it. Mainly because I knew I was being unreasonable and what I was upset about wasn’t anything I had any right to be upset about. It wasn’t anything to do with him but, without me communicating and telling him what it was, he assumed I was pissed at him. Mainly for having a fractured ankle and ruining my plans of an active summer spent dancing in the rain and skipping through fields of clover (no, not really but yeah kinda).

I’d been messaging a friend throughout the day and he suggested we go out. I jumped at the chance, not wanting to be cooped up in the house any longer. My partner had previously given his blessing for me to go out on my own if he didn’t feel up to it but, when I suggested we go out, he agreed. However, the problems began when I blitzed it to get ready and asked (a few times) how much longer he’d be… Cue misunderstanding, disgruntlement and general unpleasant vibes. As they say, hindsight’s a bitch.

My not speaking up had made him feel like I was upset with him. Because I was caught up in my own problems, I hadn’t really shown much concern for his broken ankle predicament. And even though I tried to pretend I wasn’t contemplating going out without him, I am a dreadful actress and he could see through that like a pane of glass. I felt bad. He felt bad. We all felt bad and then we talked about it. Through communication (yep, that old chestnut!), we were able to see each other’s side of the issue and things were resolved positively. We both went out although I went out first and he joined us later.

I’m the first to admit that I’m terrible at communicating, especially in a conflict. Even as Jared was talking to me, I felt myself wanting to clam up, to go on the defensive or just shut down. Thankfully, enough of me knew that was no kind of solution. In fact, it was the worst kind of solution. It’s a terrible feeling, having an argument and wondering if it will be the last and not in a good way. I can see how easy it would be to let pride and emotion get the better of you and forget what’s really important. Luckily, we handled that shit like adults. Yeah, maybe damaged and slightly fucked up adults… but come on, we got there in the end. Give us some credit, this shit is hard.

I’ve been to the gym two days in a row now and I feel so much better. I’m one of those people who struggles to get out of bed any earlier than I absolutely have to so getting up for the gym is a hard sell. And when I tell myself I’m going to go and then snooze straight through it, well… Let’s just say I’m mighty unkind to myself for the rest of the day.

On top of that, my new gym requires that you use an app to book yourself in for classes. I have an unlimited membership so it doesn’t really matter how many sessions I book in for, it’s more about letting them know I’m coming so they can plan my workout. Sadly, they can also see when I’ve cancelled. So you’re already feeling lazy and now other people know how lazy you are as well.

However, after yesterday’s session, I felt so energetic and productive and just generally happy. I worked my way through my to do list, took stock of my day and got everything it was possible to do done. All because I felt like I’d already achieved something before work. And, with that in mind, it was much easier to roll out of bed and mosey on down to the gym for the second day in a row. I barely even considered a snooze (ok, maybe a teensy one). I felt the pull of those sweet, sweet endorphins and I was hooked (if two days in a row classifies as ‘hooked’).

Now anyone that’s been reading this blog for a decent amount of time will know how poorly I do at staying committed to anything. But hopefully I’ll show some fucking perseverance on this count as I’ve made it as easy as humanly possible for me to get to the gym.

The gym is literally 5mins walk from my house

They have classes in the morning AND evening

I can even go and work out on my own without a class (ok, let’s be realistic, this isn’t going to happen)

And they follow me up when I cancel or don’t book at all (the deciding factor when picking a gym).

My partner has even said he might come along once we’ve gotten through Tough Mudder and he’s ready to cut back on seeing his personal trainer, which is quite expensive. If that doesn’t get me over the line, well I may as well just give up. And it’s not like I haven’t been fit before! I must just be older and lazier. Yep, sounds about right.

I’ve been seeing a lot of these adult colouring books around the place of late. Seen articles about them on the net. Part of me wants to get involved; I love a good fad plus anything that makes me feel a bit more kid-like and creative is always good.

I have a few cross stitch packs left over from when I decided embroidery would be a wonderful way to keep myself occupied during my free time (this was loooooong before I started studying). It did entertain me for quite a few weeks right up until the time my eyes started hurting and I realised I’d fucked up the count and didn’t have enough of a certain thread left and was just generally shitty at sewing. So they are now gathering dust in the cupboard under our bookcase. Money well spent!

So colouring books are probably not the best idea for me. They look like fun. They’re wonderfully intricate and I can just imagine how fantastic they look when all filled in by actual adults who are able to stay between the lines. I told myself, “Go on, get one. You’ll love it.” But I won’t, I’ll be honest, even as a child I wasn’t a massive fan of colouring in.

I remember this one particular time in Grade One when we had the principal, Mrs Bourke (can’t believe I remember her name!), standing in for our regular teacher. She must have wanted to keep us quiet so she got us all cutting out pictures and colouring things in. I was sooooo bored. I made a conscious effort to do the worst possible cutting and colouring. I smeared glue everywhere. She was walking around looking at everyone’s work and congratulating them on their stellar efforts. That came to a sudden halt when she got to me.

I’m sure she entertained the notion that I’d had a mild stroke or gone feral. I was usually a very bright and compliant child but not today. Today cutting out and colouring in was not what I wanted to be doing and I was determined to make my feelings known. She wasn’t having it though. I remember she made me recut my shitty work and gave me new colouring sheets with strict instructions to “stay between the lines”, a command I’ve hated ever since, to be honest.

So there you have it. My rebellious nature and innate hatred of boredom has ruined me for what could be an enjoyable and much less expensive hobby than cross stitch embroidery. Or maybe I can forget about adult colouring in books and go dig out my dusty embroidery. Or maybe I don’t need another goddamn hobby; I have far too little time as it is.

I had lunch with a friend today and was very surprised when she told me her and her husband weren’t sure how much longer they were going to be together. These guys will have been together ten years next month. We only saw them last week and things seemed fine.

I know you never know what goes on behind closed doors but I felt like I knew them as a couple (they’re some of my closest friends) and hearing this news really shook me (all about me, I know). Long story short, they’ve lost their spark. They love each other, are the greatest of friends but are no longer ‘in love’ with each other, romantic/sexual love, that is. She said they were like flatmates now. They were trying to see if they could salvage things or if they just needed to let it go.

I can only imagine how scary this would be after ten years of being with someone. My friend is in her mid-late thirties and they’d been trying to fall pregnant so, of course, that whole ‘will I find someone else?’ mindset comes into play. As someone who doesn’t think they want kids, I don’t necessarily understand the maternal fear but I can definitely understand not wanting to be alone and not wanting to let go of something just in case it gets better. I believe every relationship goes through cycles of being really in love and not so in love (but still enough in love that it doesn’t jeopardise the relationship). It’s how you deal with these down cycles that determine how long the relationship lasts.

Maybe two or three years into our relationship, my partner got promoted to a management role at a hot new bar. At the time, I worked 9 – 5 and he worked nights and all weekend so we didn’t even have one day together all week, unless one of us requested annual leave. He was rarely available to do any social things with our friends, I’d have to do them alone, if I wanted to. If I wanted to see him, I usually had to go to where he worked and the little time we did have together, he was usually super tired and didn’t want to do much. Resentment quickly built to the point where I started thinking, ‘what’s the point of having a boyfriend I never see?’

We were pretty close to breaking up but, thankfully, we didn’t. We spoke about it. We got through it. He was eventually able to ask his managers to give him better hours and things improved. In our case, we were still in love and wanted to be together but external forces were making things difficult. As a couple, I think you can get through anything if you still feel love for that person, if you can see why you want to be with them and why you loved them in the first place. If you can see a future for yourself and the obstacles aren’t too great to overcome.

We were lucky we were able to get through our tough time. I hope my friend is able to do the same, if that’s what they want. But I also think it’s just as much a right decision to make the call to end things, if it’s not salvageable. If you’re miserable and there’s no way out, you owe it to yourself to leave. It’s going to be tough. You’re going to be heartbroken; no matter what state your relationship was in at the end, that person was a huge part of your life. You’re going to worry that you made the wrong decision. But all of these fears are better than waiting another 5 or 10 years and coming to the same decision.

I love my friend and I love her husband and I will support them no matter what decision they make. Yes, it makes me so sad to think of them not being together but, as much as that thought upsets me, the thought of them not being happy and staying together is worse. They are both wonderful people and they’ll be able to find other people to make them happy, if it comes to that.

Aside from my 9+ year relationship with my partner, blogging has to be my longest commitment. I’ve written 266 posts (this will be 267) and I’ve been writing semi-regularly since 25 April last year. That’s pretty impressive for me. Usually, I start something, am super keen for a few days/weeks/months and then – poof! – I get bored and move on.

This has happened with the gym… over and over again. It happened with bike riding (after I bought a bike and all the paraphernalia that goes with it, of course). It happened with cross stitching (don’t judge me). It’s happened with countless other things. Fuck, it even happens with me and actual people. What can I say? I’m a fickle bitch, I can’t pretend otherwise.

But somehow blogging seems to have stuck. Maybe doing a writing degree was a good idea. Even if I don’t ever write a book or end up working in ‘the industry’, it’ll have re-introduced me to the joy of writing for writing’s sake. It’ll have given me a place to type out my thoughts and then share them with the interwebs (and a few friends and family members who also read this, a fact I can’t ever quite seem to forget although I try not to let it influence what I write about). I will always appreciate that.

As a teenager, I kept a daily diary and wrote poems and stories. I actually kept a diary into my early twenties and I still have them all. I read a few pages of one a few months ago – oh my god, I was troubled. But I suppose most of us would feel that way looking back on our teenage selves (or am I just trying to make myself feel better?). Regardless I feel like I’m back in touch with that part of me, the part that just loved to write and create, even if what I write about now is not as hormone addled (most of the time).